


find me during golden hour, tell me that i'm yours

by farouche (AnonymousSinner)



Series: dumb robot boys in love [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: (simon has a vagina), Aftercare, Choking, Crying, Dom/sub, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, Face-Fucking, Fluff and Smut, Fluffy Ending, Hair-pulling, Light BDSM, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Sex Positions, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Ownership, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Rough Sex, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, can be read as standalone but would still recommend first part of series, degradation but like it's light, i guess, listen simon just stays in markus's bed and gets fucked all day thats literally what this is, oh boy here we go - Freeform, suck my dick david cage, they're so in love it's kind of disgusting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 23:34:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15497313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousSinner/pseuds/farouche
Summary: “Fuck, you’dletme, wouldn’t you? I wonder Simon, would you let me keep you locked in my room all day, spread out on that huge bed I barely ever use? Would you stay there, just waiting for me, letting me visit you whenever I wanted, use you whenever I felt like it?”Or, the follow-up where Markus and Simon do exactly that.





	find me during golden hour, tell me that i'm yours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wholeluna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wholeluna/gifts).



> Hi! This was a commission by wholeluna (talesoflotus on tumblr and rinatsea on twitter) and I had so much fun writing this so i really hope you enjoy! 
> 
> it was also lowkey difficult to write this bc my flatmate kept walking behind me and i kept having to close the tab bc i need to keep what little dignity i have left but HERE HAVE IT

It’s golden hour, in Detroit. The sun is slowly beginning to set, marking the end of one of the hottest days of the summer. A blissfully cool evening breeze now filters through the large open window, soothing heated skin awash in gentle rays of sunlight.

Simon shifts on soft, teal sheets, one arm hanging off the edge of the bed as he rolls onto his back, lazily stroking fingers across the silk. Gingerly, he trails those fingers down his body, bringing them between his thighs. The skin there feels raw, thirium-based lubricant sticky as it slowly dries, and a soft noise escapes his throat when he moves his hand up, fingers sliding through synthetic folds and over his clit.

It’s something he’s still getting used to, actually having something down there. He’d only purchased it last week, having finally gathered enough courage to enter the small, secluded store he’d walked past far too many times. The employees had been almost scarily enthusiastic, but in a way he was relieved. They didn’t blink when he told them what he wanted, just brought him straight to the back so he could choose which of the components he preferred.

He could have gotten a dick. Could have gotten the parts most commonly used for PL600s, to fit the human ideal of masculinity. But he didn’t want to. He wanted to feel what he’d felt with Markus that day, wooden desk cold against Simon’s back as cables stretched to accommodate Markus’s cock, every brush over exposed, sensitive wires making him cry out. He wanted that, but he wanted it safer, wanted to avoid intrusive warning signals and program recommendations clogging up his vision.

The protective layer of his new biocomponent covers those wires now, muting the feeling to something less intense, but still pleasurable in a way he doesn’t think he’ll ever fully get used to. And far more durable.

That was the main reason he’d bought it. Not because he didn’t enjoy the direct stimulation to wires and cables, not because it was what he thought Markus would want, but because he wanted it to _last;_ to go on for as long as they wanted without his programming forcing him into emergency standby at inopportune moments.

He’d approached Markus in his office yesterday with timid, quiet steps, walking up to where he’d been sitting in his armchair, lost in a book. Wordlessly, he’d held out his hand, skin deactivating down to his wrist. And Markus, somewhat confused but endlessly trusting, had put the book down and taken it.

“ _Fuck, you’d **let** me, wouldn’t you? I wonder Simon, would you let me keep you locked in my room all day, spread out on that huge bed I barely ever use? Would you stay there, just waiting for me, letting me visit you whenever I wanted, use you whenever I felt like it?_ ”

He’d played the memory audio instead of actually asking himself, but Markus had understood, had stiffened and sucked in a surprised breath, intertwining their fingers as their skin slowly reappeared over their endoskeletons.

“ _Are you sure?_ ” he’d asked, patient and voice perfectly level, but when Simon met his gaze he’d found those piercing eyes blown wide with want, his cheeks lightly tinted blue.

“ _Please_ ,” he’d replied, transfixed, and Markus had pulled him onto his lap, hands finding his waist like they belonged there as he brought him close and kissed him.

Simon shifts on the sheets again, thighs squeezing together as he delicately runs the tip of his index finger over his clit. It’s sensitive, so sensitive, but he doesn’t want to come. Not without Markus here. He makes a soft sound at the contact, then reluctantly pulls his hand away to rest it on his chest.

He’s lost count of how long he’s been here. Minutes passed so slowly yet so quickly, bleeding into hours, and his memory is a hazy mess of brown skin and stolen touches, of lips trailing over his body and fingers pressing into his skin as the earth sluggishly travelled around the sun.

At least 10 hours, he thinks. He remembers stepping into the room at around 10 a.m., and his internal clock tells him it’s just past 8 p.m. now.

Simon sighs shakily, eyes closing as he searches through files. He doesn’t often use this part of his programming, and he spends a few seconds organising and ordering, getting his bearings before he finally finds that first part of recorded footage. He hesitates, breath hitching, and then allows it to replay in his mind.

The sound of near-by traffic and the darkness behind his eyelids fade out, slowly replaced by the memory of Markus slamming the door of his bedroom shut, Simon’s legs wrapped around his waist and hands desperately clutching to his back as he walks them across the room and drops him onto the bed.

“ _Colours?_ ” Markus asks in Simon’s mind, and it’s somewhat unnerving to have the visual of him pulling off his shirt and pushing him down onto the sheets but not actually being able to feel the fabric slide under him or Markus’s hands warm on his shoulders.

“ _Red for stop, yellow for wait, green for go._ ” It’s Simon’s own voice played back to him, hurried and impatient, and Simon echoes the whimper that had escaped him as Markus murmured praise against his skin.

“ _The thing is, Si_ ,” Markus says quietly, and Simon’s stomach swoops all over again, watching those fingers slide down his chest to undo the button of his jeans, “ _I have a meeting in an hour, but I don’t particularly feel like waiting until after it ends to play with you_.”

Simon’s memory shows him the teasing smile that had accompanied those words, how he’d dragged Simon’s jeans down and off his legs, exposing him to the cool air of the room. It shows him how Simon’s breathing had picked up, his own panting loud in his ears, as Markus leaned over him and kissed his way across his jaw.

“ _So here’s what’s going to happen_ ,” Markus says, and Simon shivers as his voice plays back, so close to his ear he can feel phantom lips brushing the skin, “ _I’m going to get you nice and wet, and then you’re going to be a good boy for me and come on my fingers. Can you do that_?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Simon says, and he’s so lost in the memory he almost doesn’t realise he’s repeated it out loud as well.

And then, _fuck_ , all Simon can really do is watch. Watch Markus, how he’d crawled down his body, how he’d settled between Simon’s thighs, pressing teasing kisses to soft skin. How he’d glanced up at him, still smiling, before bringing those lips to his cunt. Simon twitches on the sheets, feels a familiar heat build between his legs, and _God_ , he remembers how _good_ it had felt, how warm Markus’s tongue was, warm and wet with synthetic saliva, laving over his clit and lapping up the slick already gathering between Simon’s legs. In the memory, Markus moans, and Simon shudders, remembers how the vibrations of that had felt against sensitive skin.

“ _You taste so good, Simon. God, I love the way you react to my tongue. Good boy_.”

Simon swallows thickly, watches Markus gently suck at his clit, whines quietly as he sees that tongue dip inside him. Slowly, he runs his fingers down his chest, and it feels strange when his hands in the memory don’t do the same, the touch somehow sharper, more striking. He teases at his folds as he watches the scene unfold, waiting for what he knows happens next.

_“You want my fingers, sweetheart? Think you can take two for me already, just like that?”_

He definitely can. Simon slides two fingers into himself, keens at the familiar pleasure, and copies the way Markus had pushed his own in and out of Simon, curling and stretching. He fails to get as deep, can’t seem to replicate the perfect feeling of Markus’s skilled fingers filling him up, but the memory of it is enough to make him moan.

“ _Fuck, you open so easily for me. So desperate for it. My perfect boy, practically gagging for my fingers.”_

_“Markus, I-”_

_“Sssh, Simon. I know you can take a third. Be good.”_

_“Yes.”_

Simon sucks in a sharp breath, adds a third finger as Markus does the same. It’s not as intense now, stretched out and still soaked from earlier, but he remembers how tight he’d been this morning, how those fingers had pressed against him, stroking over sensitive wires through protective skin. He hears himself groan in the memory, watches how Markus moves up to kiss him. Simon had closed his eyes at that point, so all he sees now is darkness. It’s strangely comforting, being in the dark as he fucks himself on his own fingers; allows him to focus on the soft sounds he and Markus had made, to listen to the wet slide of their lips and to skin brushing against silk sheets.

“ _Look at you. My perfect toy, all mine to play with. Three fingers in and you still want more, don’t you?”_

In the memory, Simon opens his eyes, finds Markus’s face just above his, unflinchingly meeting his gaze.

“ _I know you do. So what’s going to happen now is you’re going to come. And then we’ll see if I feel generous_.”

Simon’s breath catches as he hears himself whimper in response, the sound high-pitched and embarrassingly needy.

“ _There we go, that’s a good boy_ ,” Markus hums, and Simon speeds up his thrusts, spreading his fingers and cursing as he struggles to reach that spot, that place inside him that Markus seemed to be able to find instantly, if Simon’s breathless moans in his memory are anything to go by. And fuck, he remembers just as he hears himself cry out, remembers how Markus had twisted his wrist, curled those clever fingers up in a way that drove him mad. Simon groans softly, head tilted back, and bites his lip hard to keep from making too much noise, because he wants to hear it again, wants to hear what Markus had said when he’d crawled over him and pressed his lips against his ear.

“ _Go on, my little fucktoy. Come for me_.”

Simon pulls his fingers out, sucks in a harsh breath he doesn’t need, thighs shaking with the effort _not_ to as the Simon from this morning chokes on a loud moan and falls apart under Markus’s hands. Because that Simon was allowed to come, _asked_ to come. Now, hours later, this Simon isn’t. This Simon has to wait.

“ _Good, that’s so good. How did that feel, hm? Was that nice?”_ Markus’s voice is lilted, a soft sing-song that’s just on the edge of condescending, and Simon shivers as the words wash over him all over again, seeping deep into his skin. He hears himself hum in agreement, sees how he shifts on the sheets, trying to move away from Markus’s too sensitive touch as those fingers gently pull out and slide over his clit.

“ _No, no_ ,” Markus says, and God, Simon’s _so_ glad he recorded this for that slow, dark smile alone. He watches as Markus grabs his wrists and pins them above his head, the bright blue and green of his eyes swallowed by black. “ _Don’t shy away from me._ _Don’t you think I deserve a turn? After I just so nicely helped you make a mess of yourself? You’re gonna be a good boy for me Simon, and give me what’s mine_.”

He remembers this part so well he almost doesn’t need the recording. Remembers how Markus had pulled his cock out of his pants, how he’d yanked Simon to the edge of the bed like he weighed nothing at all. How hands firmly grasped his hips, tight enough to bruise if he could, and how Markus’s eyes had locked with his for a split second, checking, asking, always ensuring that Simon felt safe. He remembers how he’d nodded, spread his legs wider to accommodate Markus’s frame, and how finally, fucking _finally_ , Markus had slid himself inside. Not even bothering to properly pull down his jeans, letting the zipper dig into the flesh of Simon’s ass as he fucked into him, fast and rough and hitting that spot inside him again and again and _again_.

“ _You can come if you want. I don’t particularly care – it’s not about you, anymore. But if you want to, you better hurry up, baby_.”

Simon had. It’s somehow louder in the memory, hearing how he’d whined, how Markus had moaned when Simon threw his head back and came on his cock. His own pants and gasps echo in Simon’s mind as he watches how Markus had fucked him through it, ducking his head to bite harshly at Simon’s neck. It’s a pretty thing, to see him come again, see how his brows had knitted together, how his lips had parted on a quiet gasp, hips stuttering. Simon makes a quiet noise in the back of his throat, fingers sliding between his legs again, gathering wetness as he watches Markus pull out of him, tuck himself back into his jeans with an almost bored expression on his face.

“ _I’ll be back later. Be a good boy, Simon. Don’t come again, and don’t you dare fucking move from that bed_.”

The recording ends just as Markus turns and walks away, and Simon lets out a shaky breath as he blinks his eyes open, staring up at the ceiling. He counts the small lines in the plaster, watches the dust particles that float in the air, illuminated by the sunlight. His heart beats fast in his chest, lungs expanding as he inhales cool and sweet summer air, and he rolls onto his side, pulling the corner of silk sheets to cover his lower body. The fabric is smooth against him, the dark teal colour contrasting sharply with pale white skin.

“ _Those sheets are such a pretty colour on you. Makes your eyes look so, so blue_.”

The next recorded memory starts playing before Simon even realises he’s picked it out. That low, velvet voice wraps around him like Markus is actually there, Simon’s view changing from dust particles and setting sun to the sight of Markus slowly closing the door of the bedroom, eyes roaming over his body as he moves closer to him with quiet, confident steps.

He’d only made Simon wait three hours, the first time. Came back mere minutes after that meeting had ended, the sleeves of his button-down rolled up to his elbows. The familiar sound of his footsteps on the wooden floor had made Simon feel inexplicably nervous, and he remembers how he’d gingerly sat up, mouth dry as he looked up at Markus, waiting for instruction.

“ _Were you a good boy for me, Simon?_ ”

His voice is honey-sweet and dangerous in Simon’s memory, blue and green keeping him frozen in place as Markus trails teasing fingers up his leg, from ankle to inner thigh. Simon’s point of view shakes a bit; a nod in response to Markus’s question.

“ _Simon, you know better than that. Answer me._ ”

“ _Yes, Markus_.” Very quiet, but level. Simon is almost proud of the fact that his voice hadn’t stuttered.

“ _There we go. Did you miss me?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Good._ ”

Markus moves back, steps away from the bed, and Simon stiffens, fingers curling into the sheets as he remembers what happens next.

“ _Come here._ ”

Shaky movements, the sound of his bare feet touching the floor. Markus’s hands move, and Simon wishes he could feel them again on his shoulders, how strong they were, and how _easily_ Markus had pushed him down.

“ _On your knees, Simon._ ”

And _fuck_ , the sight of Markus towering over him, one hand slowly going down to the button of his jeans, is enough for Simon to have to squeeze his thighs together, biting his tongue hard to quell the feeling of _heat_ that builds up again.

“ _Colour?_ ” Markus whispers in the memory, eyes not leaving his, and Simon shudders as he hears himself answer, voice definitely wavering this time.

“ _Green_.”

Simon’s hand goes to his head, fingers curling into his hair and pulling harshly at the strands, trying to replicate how it had felt when it had been Markus’s fingers, pulling him forward, holding him where he wanted him as he took out his cock and pushed it between Simon’s already parted lips. And he remembers the weight of him on his tongue, the salty-yet-sweet taste of thirium, the sharp pleasure-pain no android was ever supposed to be able to feel but Simon _did_ as Markus tugged his hair and fucked his throat.

“ _There’s a good boy, open up for me. That’s it. Such a perfect little cockslut, aren’t you?_ ”

Simon hears his own muffled moan, loud and desperate, sees his hands travel up Markus’s legs, gripping tight in an attempt to steady himself.

“ _Look at you. Dripping all down your thighs, taking my cock like you were made for it_. _So good, Si._ ”

Simon keens as he hears the words again, turns to bite at one of the pillows, his saliva seeping into the fabric. In the memory, Markus speeds up his thrusts, soft pants falling from his lips as his eyes flutter shut and his head tilts back, exposing the column of his throat. He’s beautiful, the most beautiful thing Simon’s ever seen, and Simon wants to come so badly that he lets out a frustrated sob, tears joining spit on the pillow. Markus groans quietly, and Simon remembers how warmth had flooded his mouth, how the taste of him had flooded his senses.

“ _You can come now, baby. Come for me, go on_.”

And he had. He came on command, untouched, drooling down his chin as Markus pulled out of his mouth, leaving him empty and shuddering on the cool wooden floor.

“ _Get back on the bed, Simon. I’ll see if I’m in the mood to visit you again later. Don’t come before then._ ”

The memory ends. Simon unclenches his teeth, rolls away from the wet spot left behind on the pillow.

That was over six hours hours ago.

Slowly, gingerly, Simon sits up. His thighs are sticky with new lubricant, and a wire in his back twinges slightly as he moves.

**_Lubrication levels low. Standby mode recommended soon to allow for internal recharging and repair. Set a timer?_ **

“Fuck off,” he whispers to himself, waving the alert away. He leans against the headboard of the bed, eyes closing as he inhales deeply, trying to cool overheating systems.

Six hours. Six hours of trying to distract himself, of reliving memories, of tensing every time someone walked past the door. Six hours of trying to calm the heat coursing through him, of touching himself for any kind of relief, only to make it worse because he can’t fucking _come_.

He understands that this is the point. That Markus is challenging him, pushing his limits, testing just how long Simon can last. Because he knows Simon won’t disobey him. _Can’t_ disobey him.

It doesn’t make it any easier.

There’s a soft noise, outside the door. Simon lazily blinks his eyes open, expecting the familiar sound of footsteps walking past, fading down the corridor. Instead, a key turns in the lock.

He flinches, scrambles to sit up straight, feet slipping on silk. The door opens quietly, just enough for Markus to step into the room and close it behind him. He’s holding a book in one hand, eyes scanning the pages, and he doesn’t say a word. The sound of him locking the door shut seems so much louder than it is in this silence, and Simon swallows as Markus walks towards him, barefooted across the wooden floor, free hand absent-mindedly playing with the key before he drops it on the unused dresser by the wall. He’s changed his shirt, replaced it with the soft, medallion-yellow sweater that Simon loves, and he looks calm and relaxed and the exact opposite of what Simon’s feeling.

Markus doesn’t look at him as he crosses the room. His face is blank, perfectly neutral as he keeps reading the book, and he leisurely makes his way over to the bed before settling comfortably at Simon’s side.

Simon wants to touch him. Wants to ask where he’s been, wants to curl into his chest and brush his cheek over that sweater, wants Markus to play with his hair.

He doesn’t move.

“Did you come while I was away?” Simon jumps as Markus breaks the silence, his voice completely level as he rests his book on his lap and turns the page with his left hand.

“No,” Simon replies instantly, “No, I didn’t. I promise.”

A small smile plays at Markus’s lips, and he runs his fingers briefly through Simon’s hair. Simon sighs, leans into the touch, his eyelids fluttering.

“Good,” Markus murmurs, and takes his hand away. It’s silent again, Markus just sitting there, one leg crossed over the other as he keeps reading, turning the pages so unhurriedly that Simon feels like the whole world has slowed down. He swallows, fidgets with the sheets, balling the fabric up in his fist and sliding it through his fingers.

Markus turns another page. Inhales, sighs softly. Then, still not looking up from his book, he brings his right hand to the side of Simon’s neck, strokes down to his shoulder. Simon shivers, leans back as those fingers trail down his chest, lower and lower until they find the fabric bunched around his waist and tug it away, exposing him.

“Markus,” Simon whispers, fingers curling into fists as Markus finally, _finally_ slides his fingers over his cunt, dipping into the folds and spreading the wetness he finds there.

“Quiet, Simon,” Markus says simply, “I’m trying to read.”

Simon swallows thickly, tries to relax. Slowly, carefully, he spreads his legs, tentatively giving Markus’s hand more room. He’s rewarded by then man’s middle finger rubbing teasingly over his clit, and he gasps at the sudden spark of pleasure the contact brings.

“Simon,” Markus says again, voice low and quiet and ever so slightly threatening, “I said _quiet_. I’m trying to concentrate. I won’t ask you again.”

Simon glances at him, eyes roaming desperately over his profile. Markus’s eyes stay fixated on his book, face schooled into that expression he has when he’s going through files or playing piano or lost in thought. A slight furrow to his brow, mouth flat. Perfectly focused.

Simon lets his head fall back against the headboard, eyes finding the ceiling as he lets out a long exhale. Markus’s fingers continue to rub over him, gentle circles over his clit and every so often slipping the tip of one inside him. Simon clenches his teeth together, nails digging into his palms with the effort it takes to stay silent. Markus turns another page as he finds a rhythm with his right hand; circling clockwise, rubbing down and then back up, and repeat. Simon’s _slick_ , feels wetness drip down as the pleasure steadily builds, making his toes curl. He’s breathing heavily, moves a hand up to his mouth and bites down on the soft tissue between his thumb and index finger to stifle the moans that threaten to escape. The pressure of his teeth helps him focus, helps him steady his breathing as Markus continues his ministrations, and he relaxes his shoulders. For a second, Simon thinks he’s okay.

And then Markus presses his fingers harder. Simon jolts, free hand clutching desperately at the sheets as he arches his back, biting down harder on his hand to quieten the sob that escapes him. Markus’s pace picks up in response, two fingers rubbing over his clit from side to side in that way he recently discovered drives Simon insane.

And Simon – _shit, **fuck**_ , Simon’s gonna come. There’s no way he can hold it in, not again. Desperately, he clutches at Markus’s shoulder, panting harshly, nails scratching at the fabric of his sweater. Markus doesn’t look up at him, doesn’t even blink – just turns another fucking page of that fucking book, and keeps going.

Silent tears roll down Simon’s cheek, hips stuttering as he desperately holds on for a few more seconds. Markus curls his middle finger, pushing it inside of Simon as much as he can in this position, and Simon gives up. His body goes rigid, head thrown back as his lips open on a silent moan, soaking Markus’s hand.

“Simon. Now look what you’ve done.” Markus closes the book, drops it unceremoniously on the floor besides the bed as he pulls his fingers away and holds them up, eyes finally meeting Simon’s to give him such a disappointed look that Simon’s stomach twists with shame. “You’ve made a mess.”

“I’m s-sorry,” Simon manages, voice layered with static, and Markus hums dismissively. Those eyes flicker to Simon’s lips, and he brings thirium-coated fingers forward, brushing over synthetic pink skin.

“Clean them up, then,” he says softly, expectantly. Simon whimpers, parts his lips and draws the digits into his mouth.

It’s somewhat gratifying to hear Markus’s breath hitch, reassuring to finally see him react as Simon wraps his tongue around his fingers and sucks them clean. His pupils widen as Simon moans around them, and a string of saliva connects him to Simon’s mouth when he eventually pulls his fingers free.

“Enough,” he says, voice hoarse, and Simon can’t stop the proud smile that spreads across his face at the quiet need in the other’s tone. Markus catches it, and his eyes darken further as he reaches out and gently cups the side of his face, thumb resting on his lips.

“Something funny?” he asks, soft and dangerous, and Simon swallows, tries to shake his head. Markus’s fingers shift, grip tightly at his jaw.

“Use your _words_ , Simon.”

“N-no, Markus.”

“Good boy.” He leans forward, places unbearably chaste kisses on his mouth, his cheek, the shell of his ear. “Now. Are you going to apologise for interrupting my reading?”

“M’sorry,” Simon murmurs again, but Markus makes another dismissive noise, pulling back from Simon’s ear to look him in the eye.

“No, baby. Like you _mean_ it.”

For a second, Simon just stares at him. Stares into blue and green, tries to process what he’s being told to do.

“ _Well?_ ” The tone is patronising, and when Markus’s lips curve into a smirk and he raises an eyebrow, something in Simon’s mind _clicks_. He swings a leg across Markus’s waist and straddles him, his shaking hands immediately grabbing the hem of his sweater and yanking it off of him before capturing his mouth in a sloppy, uncoordinated kiss. Markus moans anyway, slides his tongue against Simon’s and grabs at his hips, hard enough to bruise him if he could. Simon whines high in his throat, tears himself away from the kiss and hastily shuffles backward, fingers fumbling to unzip Markus’s jeans. He peels them down long, brown legs as quickly as he can, moaning with relief when Markus kicks them off and pulls him back to meet him, lips sliding hungrily against Simon’s and a hand stroking down his front. Those artist fingers find his cunt again, slide roughly over sensitive skin before pushing inside, and Simon whimpers.

“Go on then,” Markus breathes, “Show me what a good little slut you are.”

It takes all of Simon’s willpower to pull off of Markus’s hand, repositioning himself so he can take hold of Markus’s cock and bring it to his entrance. Markus keeps holding his waist, trying to help him go slowly, but Simon’s been waiting for hours and he just _can’t_ , anymore. He slides down before Markus can react, throwing his head back on a cry as his cock splits him open, cables and wires stretched so perfectly he could cry.

“Jesus, _fuck_ , Simon.” Markus’s voice is strained, eyes wide in shock, and Simon almost wants to say _serves you fucking right_ as he lifts himself up and drops back down, but at that point he’s all out of words. His body feels like it’s on fire, Markus’s fingers digging harshly into his skin as Simon fucks himself on his dick, drunk on the pleasure coursing through him.

“Baby, slow down, Si – _fuck_.” Markus moans, eyes squeezing shut as Simon wraps his arms around his neck and stifles his whimpers into his shoulder, teeth grazing skin.

“ _Please_ ,” Simon sobs then, because everything is too much and not enough and he’s so close to coming and he _needs_ Markus to take control, needs –

“I said _slow down_.” Markus’s grip on his waist tightens, and Simon barely has time to process being moved before he’s flat on his back, Markus grabbing his wrists with one hand and pinning them above his head while the other moves to Simon’s throat. Simon whimpers, grateful tears sliding down his cheeks and legs wrapping tightly around Markus’s waist as he thrusts back in, the pace now torturously slow.

“Are you going to be good now, Simon?” Markus asks, the fingers around Simon’s neck squeezing hard enough that it makes Simon almost instinctively gasp for air he doesn’t need, “Are you going to behave? Or am I going to have to keep you like this, fucking you slow, not giving you what you need?”

“Please,” Simon manages, voice shaking as it’s distorted by static, “ _Please_ , Markus. Promise – I _promise_ I’ll be good, just – _ah_.” He trembles violently, clenching down on Markus’s cock, and Markus groans, tightening his hold on Simon’s wrists.

“Alright, baby,” he murmurs then, soothing despite the warning pressure of his hand against Simon’s neck and the vice grip around his wrists, “Because you asked so nicely, I’ll give you what you need.”

He lets go, pulling out of him, and Simon moans pathetically at the loss, trying to convey that this is the exact _opposite_ of what he needs, actually. But then Markus is moving him again, rolling him onto his stomach and pressing a kiss to the spot between his shoulder blades, and Simon understands before he even says the words.

“Hands and knees,” Markus tells him sharply, “ _Now_.”

Simon complies, pushing himself up on to wobbly arms, and then Markus’s hands find his waist again, long brown fingers holding him so easily that it feels like Simon was made to fit them. He moans, head dropping forward as Markus pushes his legs apart, and then his cock sinks back in and Simon just _breaks_. His arms give way and he drops onto his elbows, burying his face in silk sheets as he moans and sobs pathetically, and warning signals keep trying to tell him he’s running out of tears and lubricant but he doesn’t fucking _care_ , doesn’t care about anything that isn’t this, that isn’t _Markus_. A hand slides into his hair, harshly tugging at blonde strands as Markus wrenches Simon back up, holding him there as Simon cries out and arches his back.

“Come on,” Markus says, hips snapping forward in a fast and almost brutal rhythm, every nudge against that spot inside Simon forcing hiccupping moans out of him, “Be my good little fucktoy and come on my cock.”

Simon shatters. His vision whites out as Markus roughly pulls his head back, and his mouth opens on a silent scream as he clenches down on Markus’s cock. Markus fucks him through it, pulling him against his chest and mouthing at his neck as he buries himself to the hilt and freezes, trembling and moaning into Simon’s skin. Simon chokes out his name as he feels him come, sobs wracking his body as he shakes, fucked out and oversensitive.

“Fuck,” Markus breathes, “Good boy, Simon. You did so well, I’m so proud of you.” He pulls out slowly, carefully, and Simon instantly collapses onto the mattress, the tears on his cheeks darkening silken teal.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” Warm arms wrap around him, pull him into his chest, and Simon buries his face into Markus’s neck and just _cries_. He’s trembling, whimpering softly as Markus’s come begins to drip out of him, and it takes him several minutes before he’s even able to register the gentle fingers carding through his hair and Markus’s voice whispering praises in his ear.

“- so good, Simon. You were so perfect for me, waiting all day just like I knew you would. My beautiful, _perfect_ boy, all mine. You’re safe, I’ve got you, I love you. It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay.”

Simon exhales, focuses on regulating his heart rate, matching it to the rhythm of Markus’s, fingers splayed out over his chest as he feels it beat steadily in the man’s chest. Markus kisses the top of his head, a hand rubbing up and down his back, comforting, reassuring, steadying.

“You’re okay, Simon. You did so well. I love you so much, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’ve got you. You’re so good.”

Simon lets himself be held, waits for the trembling to subside, waits for his programming to shut the fuck up with the error messages. He keeps his eyes closed, listens to Markus’s gentle words and feels the soft caresses on his back. They lay there for a while, warm and safe and together, until Markus speaks up again.

“Can you give me your colour, baby?” he murmurs, achingly soft, but Simon knows he’s nervous, always worried he went too far, always scared that he’s hurt him.

“As green as that hideous painting Leo gave you a few days ago,” he whispers weakly against his neck, “Kid clearly didn’t inherit his father’s talent.”

Markus shakes with silent laughter, relief evident as he gently pushes Simon back to see his face.

“He’s _trying_ ,” he says, attempting to sound stern but failing miserably with the ridiculously fond smile that follows the words, “I couldn’t just say no to him.”

“You can’t say no to most things,” Simon points out, and Markus shakes his head, bringing their lips together.

“Yes I can,” he murmurs stubbornly in between tender, languid kisses, “Just never to _you_.”

“I love you,” Simon tells him, kissing him back, sighing softly against his mouth, “So much.”

“I love you too,” Markus whispers, fingers dancing up his arm and across his shoulder before moving down, drawing shapes on the skin of his back. Simon huffs in amusement when he feels him write out the words, shies away from the slight tickle of the touch.

“You’re gay,” he says affectionately, and Markus grins, kisses him through quiet laughter and murmured affection.

Simon doesn’t know how long they stay there. They talk in hushed tones for hours, trading warm touches and sweet kisses, and when he wakes up from Standby a significant amount of time later, Markus is still laying next to him. He’s met with ocean blue and forest green the moment he blinks his eyes open, that gentle hand still stroking made-up patterns into his skin, and when his lips curve into that small, enamoured smile Simon loves so much, he knows he’s home.

**Author's Note:**

> please leave kudos and/or comments if you liked this they are my lifeblood
> 
> also if you want to message me to talk about DBH and these idiots or if you want to commission me to write something for you, please do so via my [tumblr](https://farouchedoncjevie.tumblr.com/)! please i love talking to y'all


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